


If These Walls Could Talk

by smoothsailing



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Gardens & Gardening, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoothsailing/pseuds/smoothsailing
Summary: If Grigor's garden could talk, it would tell a hundred stories. well, five.





	If These Walls Could Talk

**one.**

When Grigor moves into his new condo, Sascha is somehow roped into helping.

He’s pretty sure his, "No," was as emphatic as he could make it, but Grigor’s always heard  _no_  as  _hell yeah, man, let me know when I can help!_  Sascha would do something about it, but he gets a free meal, beer and an awesome view out of it, so he’s not going to complain too hard.

\---

“You’re the worst,” he complains, stretching and wincing when his back cracks. He’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be getting these aches and pains when he’s supposed to be fit and ready for the season.

“Stop complaining." Grigor rolls his eyes, his usual mode of communication when talking to Sascha, which, fuck him. "Sushi okay?”

Sascha nods, splaying dramatically across Grigor’s new island, relishing the cool counter against his cheek. “You’re a terrible excuse for a friend, man.”

Grigor’s bent over, rummaging around in one of the boxes which is actually labelled ‘take out menus, kitchen paper shit, and other stuff,’ which is so typically Grigor that Sascha finds himself smiling endearingly. God, he can’t believe he’s actually into this loser. “Whatever, you love me.”

That’s painfully close to the truth, so Sascha grumbles something and deliberately doesn’t move. “I’m broken. You’re going to have to carry me into the living room.”

“I thought we could eat on the roof,” Grigor says, flushing a little.

Which, yeah, okay, the roof is the reason Grigor bought the fucking condo, so  _of course_  he’d want to eat up there. “It’s like, minus nine hundred degrees, dude.”

Except Grigor is from Haskovo, so eating out in the freezing cold is super normal for him. “Fine. We’ll-”

“The roof is fine,” Sascha interrupts, finally shifting back so that he can look Grigor in the eye. “I’d hate for all of my hard work to go to waste.”

The worst part of the move had been taking all of Grigor’s gardening shit up to the roof and watching him be completely ridiculous about making sure everything was in the right place. Sascha doesn’t even know when this whole homegrown vegetable thing that he’s got going on started, but he makes delicious food when they have the time to do it, so Sascha is more than willing to let it go.

What he’s not is the paper that he can see poking out of the box. Grigor’s giving him a wide smile as he dials the sushi place, and Sascha’s trying not to look, his attention on the diagram instead. He's across the floor and tugging it out of the box before he’s really thought about it.

Grigor immediately colours and reaches out to snatch it away from him, but Sascha darts out of reach. “Give it back!”

Sascha takes advantage of Grigor’s momentary distraction in actually placing their order and analyses the diagram. “You haven’t even moved in, and you’re already building a rooftop garden?!”

Grigor’s blushing again, looking down at his feet with a glare as he finishes up on the phone. When he eventually holds out his hand, Sascha actually gives him the crude drawing. “I just-”

He trails off, and Sascha realises he actually  _cares_  and feels like a tool. “Hey, it’s an awesome idea. That’s why you had me carry those fucking chairs up there, eh?”

Nodding, Grigor looks slightly mollified, but Sascha can’t have him thinking that this is a terrible idea, so he leans over and punches him in the arm.

“I’m serious. I have to be the first one over here when it’s done, though, and if I don’t like it, you gotta change it.”

Grigor snorts. “I’ll have to make sure it meets your ridiculously absurd expectations then, won’t I?”

“My expectations aren’t absurd,” Sascha complains, but he’s grinning like an idiot.

\---

**two.**

“I didn’t even know Monte-Carlo  _had_  a farmer’s market,” Sascha whines, eyeing up the crowd of people in front of him. Grigor’s in there somewhere, and he’s not looking forward to trying to find him.

Mischa laughs, loud and clear, on the other end of the phone. “You chose to go.”

He absolutely did not. “He told me we were going shopping! You know me, man, I thought we were going to the health food store.”

“This is Grigor’s version of health food,” Mischa reminds him. He’s surprisingly more chill about Grigor’s foray into gardening, and Sascha doesn’t understand what the fuck is going on. It’s like everyone has lost their mind.

“You’re all fucking crazy,” Sascha says, and hangs up. He doesn’t have to deal with this.

Thankfully it isn’t too difficult to find Grigor. He’s feeling up vegetables of all shapes and sizes, and there are so many dick jokes that Sascha wants to make, but he refrains. Grigor should be fucking proud of him.

“Oh hey, Sascha,” Grigor says, grinning widely. “What do you think?”

He’s pointing at some oversized - in Sascha’s opinion - onions, and what the fuck, since when did Grigor care about onions so much?

“Are you almost done?” Sascha asks instead, knowing that he’s whining but unable to stop himself. “I don’t care what size onions you buy here, man, yours are like, superior in every way.”

The lady at the bench gets a pinched look on her face, but Grigor’s grin is as blinding as it is hilarious. “Whatever, I’ll just get these.”

He shoves them into his basket and then they’re  _thankfully_  leaving, bags of fucking vegetables in tow.

“Why don’t you just buy seeds and shit? Why are you buying  _other people’s_  vegetables?” Sascha reaches for the radio, and snorts when Grigor immediately bats his hand away.

“Stop fucking with the radio,” Grigor complains, and flips the signal. “Eating other people’s stuff helps you figure out your own.”

Sascha doesn’t see how that works. Everything he buys from the store all tastes the same, he doesn’t know what the fuck Grigor’s talking about, but he guesses that’s why Grigor’s the one growing this shit, and he’s the one eating it. “If you say so.”

When they get back to Grigor’s condo - and Sascha’s really not going to analyse why he likes spending so much time there - Grigor puts his shit away, and Sascha immediately goes up onto the roof. It’s his favorite place in the world to go now that Grigor’s actually finished it. It’s all wooden decking with plush, modern seating. Grigor - or someone he hired - made some awesome garden magic, so that it feels like Sascha’s garden back at his parents’ house, even though he’s like, eighty stories up or something.

He’s relaxing back into one of the plush white couches lining the decking when Grigor comes out, two beers in hand. “Figured this is where’d you be.”

It’s not the warmest of evenings, but Sascha has a thing about this rooftop, whatever. “I can’t help that your contractor did a good job.”

Grigor scowls at the reminder that he didn’t put every piece of wood and flower in himself, but as much as he would love to do everything, Sascha constantly has to remind him that he does actually have a day job that isn’t selling vegetables and being a part-time handyman. “It was my plan.”

Sascha rolls his eyes and kicks his legs up onto a footstool. “Either way, it’s like my favourite place in the world.”

Grigor tries to smother the huge smile on his face, but there’s enough of it left that Sascha coughs to cover his own flush. Sascha’s not ashamed about his complete hardon for Grigor’s rooftop, but he is kinda trying to hide the crush he has on the owner of said garden. “Your favourite place belongs to me.”

Sascha blurts out, “That’s cause you’re here, man,” before he can stop himself. Grigor stares back at him, eyes wide and mouth half-open. It’s utterly unattractive, but Sascha still kinda thinks he’s hot. Jesus. “So yeah.”

They sit there, grinning at each other like idiots, but what the fuck ever, Sascha’s allowed to indulge in his little crush, especially when Grigor’s staring at him like maybe Sascha’s not alone in this.

\---

**three.**

There’s this this huge ginger cat that prowls around Grigor’s garden, looking important. Sascha thinks if he’d been neutered, he probably wouldn’t be such a dickbag, but Grigor tried once and almost lost an eye, so that was that.

The cat hates Grigor, though, which doesn’t make sense; Sascha’s mom taught him years ago that you shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you, but maybe cat moms aren’t so big on that. Grigor tries to like, buy his love anyway, giving him food and treats and shit, but it still doesn’t work. It just means the cat is now fat  _and_  an asshole.

Even though the cat’s the devil reincarnated and should be called Lucifer - Sascha is really big on symbolism, okay - Grigor calls him Champ, which makes zero sense to Sascha.

“He’s fat and an ass, and you’re calling him  _Champ_?”

It’s apparently none of his business considering the withering look Grigor gives him as he starts pulling out fucking carrots from his vegetable patch.

“I thought he might like me better,” Grigor admits.

It makes weird sense in Grigor logic, and Sascha is totally not surprised. Grigor’s changed the couches in the garden a million times, but they’re finally these super cool benches that slope inwards, so Sascha never ever wants to get up ever again. He relaxes back, eyeing the way Champ is prowling the edge of the roof, eyeing Sascha like he wants to claw his eyes out or something.

“He’s clearly deranged,” Sascha says, frowning as Champ licks his paws, like he’s got all the fucking time in the world.

Grigor snorts. “ _He’s_ deranged?”

Sascha sticks up his middle finger, just as Champ leaps from the wall into Sascha’s lap. Sascha keeps very still. He and Champ have always had a mutual distance-keeping kind of relationship. This is the first time he’s made any outward sign of any affection or dislike, and Sascha really hopes he’s not going to claw his dick. After pawing his leg and leaving huge gouge marks that Sascha’s probably going to need the emergency room for, Champ curls up and tucks his head behind his tail. “Uh-”

Grigor is looking at him, eyes wide, and just a little hint of jealousy on his face. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Nothing!” Sascha snaps, and Champ digs his claws into Sascha’s leg again, voicing his displeasure. “Ow, fuck off, Champ.”

Looking a little mollified by this, Grigor turns back to his carrots. “Whatever,  _I’m_  the one who feeds him every day.”

Sascha rolls his eyes. “Except when we’re on tour and your neighbour has to do it.”

“He loves her too,” Grigor says, almost mournfully, and whatever, Sascha can’t believe Grigor is acting jealous of a cat.

“Don’t worry, I still love you best of all,” Sascha tells him, grinning around his beer bottle.

Grigor doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Sascha eyes the stiffening of his back sceptically, before he says, “I wasn’t jealous of  _him_ ,” but it lacks conviction.

Sascha frowns down at Champ, as though he’s suddenly going to look up and explain his owner’s weird behaviour, but not surprisingly, Champ keeps right on sleeping.

When he gets back to his own place and his mind isn’t taken up with the awesome of Grigor’s garden, he realizes exactly what it was that Grigor was trying to say.

\---

**four.**

“Fuck, man, tell me that I’m not imagining this.”

Grigor’s elbows deep in something that smells like shit, but Sascha’s on a mission here. “Um.”

Sascha’s aware that he probably looks a little hysterical, but he kinda maybe wants to make out with Grigor, and if there’s even a remote chance that Grigor wants to do the same, well then, he’s totally not going to give up until they’ve done so.

“I’m kinda in the middle of planting stuff, Sasch, can whatever freak out you’re having wait?”

Grigor sounds uninterested to hear about said freak out, so Sascha scowls. “Can you step away from that shit? You kinda smell, dude.”

Rolling his eyes, Grigor actually stands up and Sascha almost swallows his tongue. He’s wearing jeans that are criminally low on his hips, and a ridiculous tank top that’s as covered in shit as his arms are. “Well?”

Sascha’s kinda dumbstruck, because when he came here, he had a plan, okay, but now Grigor’s ruining it by being all hot and raw man material, and oh god, if anybody ever finds out Sascha is even thinking this, he’s going to have to throw himself off of Grigor’s rooftop.

Grigor’s staring at him a little too close for comfort, and Sascha’s aware that he’s fidgeting, and he always says stupid shit when he’s nervous like, “I wanna kiss you.”

There’s a horrible silence where Sascha’s half afraid that Grigor’s going to demand he leave and then go back to burying vegetables in shit to make himself feel better, but before he can make himself say anything, Grigor’s got a - gross, really fucking gross - hand in his hair and is kissing him.

Sascha’s getting what he’s wanted for months and sinks into the kiss, even while he’s aware that this is the grossest thing he’s ever done - but it’s also the actual best thing, and he doesn’t give a shit that he’s going to need at least ten showers to feel better, because he’s kissing  _Grigor_.

When they pull apart, they’re both grinning like idiots, which is pretty much their default expression these days, but whatever, Sascha’s feeling pretty great. “So.”

“Yeah,” Grigor says, kinda dumbly, but he’s still got an arm around Sascha’s waist and fuck, Sascha loves him a lot.

They’re interrupted from staring at each other like loons by a crash from the other end of the garden. One of the plant pots is shattered on the floor and Champ is sitting next to it like butter wouldn’t melt.

“That fucking cat,” Sascha says fondly.

Grigor sighs. “He’s a champ.”

“So are you,” Sascha says, kinda cheesy. “At kissing.”

They’re clearly both stupid over each other, because that just makes Grigor kiss him again and Sascha’s hardly going to complain about that.

\---

**five.**

“These benches aren’t big enough,” Sascha complains.

Grigor curls a hand around the back of Sascha’s neck and drags him in for a kiss. There’s too much tongue and something is digging into Sascha’s hip. “We’ll work it out.”

Sascha opens his mouth to retort, but Grigor’s knee drags up between his thighs. Relishing the friction, Sascha grinds down and his breath hitches. “God.”

The grin on Grigor’s face is dumb and cocky, but Sascha loves him, so whatever. He drags his hips against Grigor’s knee, dick swelling in his sweatpants. He’s trying to kiss Grigor, but their mouths are just sliding together, Sascha letting out little  _uh, uh, uh_  noises.

“Come on, Sasch,” Grigor says.

It’s the  _Sasch_  that gets to him, and Sascha feels wetness spread between them as he comes, shuddering when Grigor works a hand between them, fingers running up his oversensitized dick. “Stop.”

Grigor doesn’t listen, rubs his thumb over the head and Sascha whimpers, eyes wet as he buries his face in Grigor’s neck. Grigor’s letting out breathy moans against his neck and  _he’s getting off on this_ , but everything feels hot and close, and Sascha wants to tell him to stop, but he doesn’t, not really.

When Grigor comes, he bites down on Sascha’s neck and mercifully pulls his hand away. Aftershocks rock the both of them and they should probably move before they get gross and sticky, but Sascha doesn’t want to. He runs his fingers against the nape of Grigor’s neck, relishing the quiet of the evening and the low lights Grigor’s spread around the rooftop, highlighting the best features of the garden.

There’s a plaintive meow from the flowerbed and Sascha grins, whispering, “I love you,” into the curve of Grigor’s collarbone.

The hand on the back of his neck tightens and Grigor echoes his words, kissing his jaw.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know how i feel about this one... let me know lol


End file.
